On the Fringe
by a.leeZ06
Summary: Post-war. Identity (noun): the fact of being who or what a person or thing is. When the path you once walked is washed away what is left of your identity? Tsu'tey, once noble warrior prince, is left bereft of title and wounded beyond full healing capabilities. On the remedy beside him is a female Na'vi with no name and no memory save the image of a great, speeding river. SlowBurn


A/N - Hello! Welcome to my FF. I just wanted to note a few things before you begin reading.

1\. I'm using the names for animals and flora (mostly) from Pandorapedia, which I think are mostly taken from the book. That being said, since the book was written to mirror a field guide to Pandora the names are not always going to be Na'vi given. I.e. - Stingbats

2\. I do not have a Beta, but if there is something about my writing style, grammar, or spelling that annoys you then feel free to mention it in a review.

3\. I know that my protagonist is going to seem a bit MarySue as certain aspects of her past are revealed about her, but I think that overall she will have enough mental and physical issues to combat the overall MarySue category. Feel free to disagree and offer helpful advice as the story progresses.

P … A … N … D … O … R … A

There it was again; the glistening sunshine that rebounds off of the smooth surface to his left. He has been trying to ignore it for the past few days almost as much as he has been trying to will his wounds to either kill him or heal. In his avoidance of the offending gold speckles that demand his attention, he cranes his neck in the opposite direct and catches sight of the familiar scarlet of Mo'at's draped top.

His lips pucker and a slow exhale is released through the slit provided. Defiance spikes through him and for what must be the hundredth time his hands splay by his side and he squeezes all of his muscles. His arms push up while his stomach curls and for a brief moment, there is a spark of triumph. Celebration is cut short when a head of familiar braids rams into sight and his good shoulder is pressed back. All muscles disengage as he stares into pools of amber and an overhanging rock face-scowl.

"You will hurt yourself further. It's just for a few more days and when the bleeding is no longer a threat, you can get up."

His teeth clamp together and his gaze flicks beyond the worried face that hovers above him. Mo'at moves into his peripheral, but he still refuses to speak, he just wants to move. He wants to run – run far away – from the glances he receives from both his brothers and his sisters. The looks that are filled with some distant pity he does not want, but they feel he deserves.

"Leave him be, Neytiri. A great warrior feels shame at having failed; a weak one feels relief."

The braids swing slightly, but his gaze stays trained on the freckled sky through the darkened branches of the canopy. Neytiri's face moves out of sight, but another takes her place. He spares the old woman a glance before trimming away. Mo'at simply pats his forehead before checking on his wounds.

Since he does not speak, he listens. He listens to Mo'at and her gentle humming and the soft round crunch of the ingredients she mortars. The sound of the deep breathing from the man to his left is a constant filter for the distant calls of hunters and their ikrans. Then he hears the voice of the huntress on his other side and his irises jump, but do not stretch the entire distance.

"Nothing has changed."

Next he listens for the rougher tone of Mo'at's daughter, "I was afraid of such. We will keep trying. Mo'at will look at you today, I'm sorry she has not been able to come here before now."

"No, there must be many wounded."

"Yes, there are."

He slips his eyes towards the older woman beside him to find that she has been studying him. His face directs itself toward the sky once more and this time he closes his eyes to deflect Mo'at. The whispering honey of the woman next to him rolls over the shell of his ear as she replies.

"I feel well enough to move around today. Perhaps I could help?"

Neytiri hums slightly, "I don't think that would be a good idea. What will I do if I need to find you?"

The girl is silent then and he feels the sticky weight of the thick salve that Mo'at is applying across his wounds. Mo'at continues humming on now as she works methodically and the tread of approaching footfalls is in the distance. Tsu'tey cracks his eye open and sees the face of the new leader approaching. He quickly closes both eyes and inwardly curses his own cowardice until he is jabbed in the stomach. His eyes fly open and harden at the innocent look of Mo'at's face before resting on the new addition.

"Tsu'tey, I see you."

For his part, the warrior lying down picks up his good arm and performs the motion of a proper greeting, but still does not talk. Jake is unperturbed as he saddles up to the right of Tsu'tey, sitting cross-legged and greeting both his mate and Mo'at from that position.

"Brother, I have a favor to ask of you."

Tsu'tey finally turns his gaze toward the new chief, careful to avoid streaming over the flecked gold that sits just behind Jake. "Yes?"

Neytiri suddenly swings towards Tsu'tey and glares before turning her attention back to the golden girl beside him. The warrior had no issue speaking; he just had no pressing need to previously.

Jake continues, "Neytiri and a few others of us are going to head to the base of the skypeople to help see off the final ship of intruders. Neytiri said that you should be able to move about within five days-"

"three days," Mo'at interrupts.

"Three days. As soon as you feel able to, I ask that you take the lead on surveillance of those who remain here along with Mo'at."

Jake watches as his comrade's eyes flicker into stone before the newly appoint chief lets loose a sigh. He knows how Tsu'tey is feelings because he was once in the same position. Waking up hurt and unable to use your limbs to their fullest capabilities as a warrior meant more than just being physically hurt. When a fighter loses their ability to fight they also lose part of what makes them whole. Neytiri, who had been caring for the sick in this area, had expressed her doubts of Tsu'tey's full recovery.

"I will be of no use."

The eldest of the party locks eyes with her daughter and a silent understanding passes between them. Neytiri places her hand on Jake's shoulder in order to stop her mate from angering the wounded soldier further. The once paralyzed vet presses his mouth into a thin line, but heeds his mate's warning. Before Jake can stand, he halts when the man lying down speaks once more.

"Ateyo, my father, is he…healthy?"

"Yes," Neytiri answers.

Tsu'tey's eyes drifts towards Jake, "He will look after everyone's safety."

Jake unfolds to his full height, "thank you, my brother."

P … A … N … D … O … R … A

The woman sits and listens to the stifled conversation from beside her and wonders at the odd dynamic that is being presented. She wonders if her home life is similar, with so many diverse relationships and feelings, but a bubble forms in her abdomen at the thought. Neytiri swings her attention away from the male she seems closest to and smiles at her patient. The woman returns the gesture, but feels all at once overwhelmed and alone.

"Mother, this is the woman I spoke to you about last night."

Mo'at rounds Tsu'tey's prone form and bends down to inspect the young woman. She is clearly not from any of the three biggest tribes gathered here. With darker skin and stripes that look nearly purple, Mo'at knows that the young woman has traveled a far distance to fight beside them. She also knows that the pattern of speckled gold along her body is not paint, but flesh. With fast reflexes, Mo'at grabs her sharpened bone and pricks the patient's neck in order to taste the blood.

"Water," she announces to no one in particular, "there is much water in you, and yet you do not look like the Ikran People of the Eastern Coast; I have never seen markings like these in my lifetime."

The young woman looks away from the scrutiny of those surrounding her, feeling her stomach squeeze at the obvious difference in appearance between her and the others. She lifts one hand to fiddle with the long ornament that hangs, woven, from her braided hair. The motion draws Mo'at's wise contemplation as she takes in the object, which at first seems darker than a thanator. When the sun hits its smooth surface the hairpiece transforms from black to the glossy petals of the lionberry plant.

"May I?"

The woman lifts her lids and, in following the healer's gaze, nods before the older woman grasps the oblong item between her fingers. It is thin as the webbing of a newborn stingbat's wing, but slick and sturdy in its shape. Mo'at pulls back and lets the ornament slide between the pads of her fingers.

"Tell me, child, what do you remember?"

The girl shifts back to playing with the object, "I see nothing but a great, speeding river. I remember only that I have traveled. I woke two days ago and remember all of my interactions from that point forward."

"Hmm," Mo'at leans back, "this will require time, which you have much of now. I wish for you to choose a name so that I have a label when reaching out to the ancestors."

The woman paused, her hand slipping from her hair to the mat below her. Her gaze grows murky as she thinks of what to name herself. How do you choose a name when you have nothing to define who you are?

"Ni'awtu."

Neytiri rests a gentle hand on the woman's shoulder, "that will change."

Ni'awtu shifted her face into gratefulness, but her eyes never clear completely. She nods once, before requesting to rest. While Jake leaves to handle business, Mo'at and her daughter move down the line of injured bodies to help those who are the worst off.

P … A … N … D … O … R … A

A/N - If you've made it this far then I'd like to announce that the name Ni'awtu is actually the Na'vi word for alone. Lionberry plants apparently look like sunflowers, but there was never any indication of color. I'll leave that up to you!

Lastly, I use the noun 'woman' quite often (mostly because the protagonist did not have a name prior) and I'm not sure how I feel about it myself. Woman is a word create specifically to describe a human born with female genitalia. As such I think it makes the writing seem to be more from a human's perspective, but I'm trying to keep the third person omnipotence a bit more Na'vi-centric. I think that using 'female Na'vi' is a mouthful and makes the writing more disjointed. Should I use the Na'vi words for male and female (tutan and tute respectively - according to both the Wiki and dict-na'vi . com)? Let me know.

Thank you!


End file.
